reflections on slowing down, dream jobs, and collaging.

Three weeks ago, I finished the last fieldwork requirement for my Master of Occupational Therapy. In the weeks since then, I have had time to fuel my soul - time to visit my lovely grandmothers, to go on an Island mountain biking trip, time to learn about dehydrating food, to hike amongst the goldeny Western larches. 

As I embark on the search for my first job as an occupational therapist, I find myself reflecting on what lies at the core of the profession - it's heart and soul.

occupation

A noun that is responsible for much of the ambiguity surrounding this vocation I have stumbled into. Put simply, occupation is the things you do to occupy your time. The things you want to do, need to do, or are expected to do. In occupational science, we break these into theoretical categories: self-care, productivity, and leisure. Or activities of daily living (ADL's), instrumental activities of daily living (IADL's), sleep and rest, work, education, play, and leisure. They're the things you do that make you who you are and shape your identity. It lies at the root of occupational therapy. 

Lately I have been reminded of the many silver linings brought about by the most unusual circumstances of the last 19 months. I have had many conversations about the blessing of being able to slow down. Learning to listen to our bodies and being able to rest without guilt or fear of missing out. Learning new crafts. Time to cook healthy meals from scratch. Taking up new hobbies. Converting my partner into a mountain biker.

For me, one of the greatest unintended consequences of this covid-era was the opportunity to work with a wonderful woman as a personal support worker. Back in March of 2020 as campus abruptly shut down and faculty scrambled to arrange for courses to move online, I was left with an abundance of free time - a most strange and unusual gift. With restrictions on what we could do, and a finite number of hours I could occupy my time baking bread and stitching embroidery, I knew that boredom was quickly encroaching. 

In my "job" with this woman, a good chunk of each shift we spent laughing the hearty kind of howl. We had conversations about feminism, about illness, dying, about art, and comfort. She opened my eyes, my mind, and my heart to a different way of being. Sometimes we shaved her partner's head into a mohawk. Some shifts we glued crow feathers onto a skateboard deck and wrapped it with a cloud of copper wire. Sometimes we watched a scene from The Last Kingdom showing Uhtred's beautiful bum on repeat. Some shifts we sent catpaw and rainbow planet-stamped envelopes to the CRA. Often we spent hours making collage cards from clippings of old magazines - often while listening to Ferron's Misty Mountain on repeat and drinking bengal spice tea, steeped for no less than 7 minutes.

This was an absolute dream job, if I ever could have imagined something up that resembled this gig. I left just about every shift with my heart feeling more full than when I arrived. Amongst many others, one thing I will take with me from that job is the love for collaging and creating art from recycling. There is something so satisfying about cutting and gluing, and creating something bizaare but beautiful.

(here is a look at some of my collage creations):